Mistakes
by Bargain Deal
Summary: Just one mistake can ruin your life. Or save it. Harry wonders what this one has done, and if he'll ever be the same. H/D slash, AU, MPreg.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! Woah, it's been a while. I'm working on WiaSaD, and this is just a little something to get me back into writing Harry Potter fic. Don't know if I'll continue, but if I do, it'll be mpreg and eventual DMHP, sorry if you don't like that kind of thing! I seem to like writing Oliver as the 'bad guy' but I promise I like him!

* * *

Harry snatched the snitch away with the very tips of his fingers, sweeping it into his chest before the Ravenclaw seeker had the chance to grab it away. For a few seconds all he could hear was the beating of blood in his ears, but as he descended, he heard the raucous cheering of the crowd congratulating him. A grin made its way onto his face and he waved to his friends in air, clutching the snitch firmly. Oliver gave him the thumbs up and the signal for the rest of the team to descend which Harry did with enthusiasm.

Upon hitting the ground he was rushed by the team captain who lifted him up and swung him around with a whoop. Harry's cheeks flushed bright red, and he struggled in vain to get away from the firm grip of Oliver who was hugging the living daylights out of him.

"It was so close I couldn't see who was going to make it but I knew you'd come through and it was such a nice catch and we won! You're amazing, Harry." The last was said while Oliver set him down and ruffled his hair affectionately. Harry had to avert his eyes. After all, if he couldn't see Oliver, then Oliver certainly couldn't see the blush that was threatening to make his head explode.

Harry fidgeted for a bit, rolling the snitch through his fingers, not entirely sure what to say. He'd just opened his mouth, resigning himself to making an utterly inane comment when Fred and George came up, slapping them on the backs with cries of "Nice one, Harry!" and "Never seen so many goals saved, captain," from the beaters. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he was hoisted onto the twins' shoulders and taken away from what may have become an awkward situation quite quickly.

As he joined in the loud singing of the rest of the team, Harry neglected to spare a glance backwards to their captain, who stood there with a confused expression on his face, then shook his head and followed them in.

* * *

The party was in full swing when Harry saw Oliver trying to get his attention. He'd all but forgotten the awkwardness experienced with the elder pupil earlier in the day, and so made his way over eagerly enough. Oliver was sitting in the corner, his hand round a large bottle of what looked suspiciously like Firewhiskey. Harry raised an eyebrow upon seeing it more than half-empty.

He was under no delusions as to the fact that the elder students drank, but he'd never seen it, as usually they kept it far away from house parties, where their underclassmen were likely to steal a bit. Harry knew the twins had tried many times to find out where it was stashed and come back hexed up to their eyeballs every time.

Shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts (he was probably just overreacting – after all, what did _he_ know about Firewhiskey?), Harry sat down next to the boy, jumping when Oliver laid a heavy arm around his shoulders. His face flushed again, and Harry cursed himself for being such an open book. Oliver chuckled slightly at him and Harry caught a whiff of his breath, screwing up his nose.

"Oliver… are you drunk?" he asked incredulously. McGonagall could come in at any second to break up the party, and a bunch of seventh years off their heads would probably negate any housepoints they'd gained from the final match of the year. Harry had tried damn hard in that match, and the idea of Oliver ruining that was unpleasant.

But the seventh year merely laughed slightly and waved his arm in an offhand manner, seemingly forgetting that he was still carrying a bottle in that hand. When it sloshed slightly, he started, and Harry rolled his eyes, making to get up. Once again, he was restricted by the Quidditch keeper's strong arms, and Harry began to feel mildly claustrophobic. He looked over to where he had been sitting before, trying to find the shock of red hair that indicated his best friend, but to no avail.

Just when he was starting to get nervous, the pressure over his arms relented, and before he knew it, he was being dragged up the stairs towards the boys' dorms. Harry's eyebrows shot up, and he tugged back, but Oliver had about a foot on him in height and was probably near double his weight. They stopped in the corridor where the seventh year bedrooms were located, and Oliver pressed Harry up against the wall, leaning down so that their breath mingled. Harry was really beginning to dislike the smell of alcohol.

When Oliver began to talk, at first it was so soft that Harry just thought he was hearing things, but it slowly raised in volume to a loud whisper.

"Harry… Harry, you were so great today. It means so much that we won Quidditch this year, y'know, it being my last year and all. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciated that… Sorry if I scared you, but I'd like to show you… Show you how much it means that you did that." Harry was confused. It wasn't as if he'd set out to win the match just for Oliver, and in fact, he'd barely even thought of the other until the match ended. And what did he mean by 'showing him'? Show him what? And –

Harry's thoughts were cut off by a warm wet mouth covering his. His eyes flew open and his hands scrabbled for purchase on the wall behind him. What was he supposed to do? In the movies he'd watched at the Dursleys' it wasn't like this… But then again, he'd never seen two boys kiss on the TV either. Was he supposed to close his eyes, or run his hands through Oliver's hair and make weird moaning sounds? Or did only girls do that?

He was saved from further thought by a gentle hand cupping the back of his head and Oliver moving back slightly. The keeper's eyes were glittering, and he grinned, saying, "Want to come to my room? There's a lot more where that came from if you do."

Harry didn't know why he lowered his eyelashes and looked up at Oliver through them, nodding slightly, but he did. And he didn't know why he followed Oliver into his room, but he did.

* * *

Harry woke up with a start, realising quickly that he didn't recognise his surroundings, and he definitely wasn't in his room. The motion sent a jolt of pain up his spine and he froze, remembering just what had happened the previous night. Almost too scared to look over at the space in the bed beside him, Harry turned his head slowly. It was empty. The depression in the bed and slight warmth indicated that Oliver had vacated the bed recently, and Harry frowned. Why hadn't he woken him up? But he shrugged, and rose, wincing. He had to get down to breakfast to try and catch Oliver, because they needed to talk.

He bent down and nearly shrieked at the pain in his backside. Hesitantly, Harry reached a hand back and touched himself lightly, going cold when he felt wetness. Bringing the fingers back, and holding his fingers in front of him, Harry was not surprised to see blood. The sight made him woozy, and he had to reach a hand out to the bedpost to stop himself from falling over. After his head stopped spinning, Harry put on his clothes with a grim expression on his face.

Ron and Hermione weren't anywhere in sight when he went down to the common room, although he wasn't surprised. Ron always liked to get to breakfast as early as possible on a Sunday, as he claimed the food was the best on that particular day of the week. Harry had to admit that he agreed with him, although he wouldn't say it in front of his friend, who would gloat until the cows came home.

So Harry made his way to the Great Hall, wondering what he was going to say to Oliver. _I don't know if you remember, but we shagged _even the word made him cringe_ and you made me bleed so um, yeah._ Harry rolled his eyes. Maybe it would come to him when he saw the other… As he entered the Hall, Harry couldn't help but feel that he was being watched by everyone present, even though he knew that wasn't the case. He wasn't _that_ self-important, that he thought all eyes were on him. But he was feeling rather self-conscious after the previous night. Would people be able to tell? That he wasn't… That he wasn't a… _virgin_?

Stiffly, he sat by his friends, greeting them in a subdued manner, while scanning the table for one Oliver Wood. Harry spotted him sitting with his yearmates, and when their eyes connected, sent him a hesitant smile. It was quickly dropped from his face when Oliver's eyes unfocused, pretending that he hadn't just seen Harry. The latter turned back to his breakfast, ignoring the questions from Ron and Hermione as to where he'd been the previous night. Was it bad that he wanted to keep the experience from them? He didn't want Hermione to look at him disapprovingly because Oliver was four years older than him, and he didn't know _what_ Ron would say.

Harry's plate was still half full when he saw Oliver excusing himself from the table. Making his own excuses to his friends, Harry quickly followed, hoping that it didn't look too obvious that he was following the seventh year. He caught up with Oliver in the corridor where his Charms classroom was located. For a second there was silence, then Harry began to speak, deciding to omit the bleeding he'd seen that morning.

"Oliver… Um, about last night…" Harry trailed off, not knowing where to go with this conversation. Was he supposed to say he liked it and wanted to do it again? The very thought of it made his ears burn. He was jerked into attention by Oliver's violent hiss.

"Shut up, Harry. _Nothing_ happened last night, am I clear?" Harry's jaw dropped, and though it moved, no sounds were forthcoming. Oliver sneered at him, saying "Don't look so surprised, alright? Last night was a mistake, I was drunk. It _won't_ happen again."

The Quidditch captain began to pace in front of a stunned Harry, continuing his rant. "Do you know what this could _do_ to me? I've got a girlfriend – we're getting _married_ in the winter!" Harry could feel his fingers growing cold. "I've been scouted for Puddlemere United… I'm going to have a career, for Merlin's sake! I can't let it get out that I had sex with a fourteen year old. You're underage – it's illegal!" Oliver looked towards Harry, who was clearly distressed by this point, beginning to shake slightly. His voice softened and he sighed.

"Listen, it's better for the both of us if we just keep quiet about this, yeah? You don't want people thinking you're a slut, which believe me they will if it gets spread around that you, a fourth year, slept with a seventh year. And I don't want that either, Harry. You're a good kid, and last night was nice… but let's just act like it never happened, okay?" Oliver ruffled his hair, just as he'd done the day before, and left Harry standing in the corridor, alone.

Harry didn't know what to think. On TV, they always made out that the first time was really special, and that you should only do it with someone you loved. Harry _liked_ Oliver (at least, he _had_), but he'd never loved him. Oliver was right though. Everyone would think him a slut. Probably because he was. Harry sat down with his back to the wall, finally allowing himself to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

I took a break from fanfiction, and when I came back, this fic decided it wanted to be written again. It's been sitting on my computer for quite some time now, finished, so I'll try and put a chapter a day or so. Not sure if I'll go back to WiASaD; the subject matter is a little difficult for me to write in my more optimistic frame of mind. Not to say that this fic isn't a lot more depressing than it was going to be originally.

* * *

Harry didn't allow himself to fall into a depression, even thought that was what he was quite sure he was supposed to do. He _knew_ Oliver was right. There was no point in making a fuss, because it'd only get the two of them into trouble. Harry had no idea what kind of punishment Oliver could get for having… _you-know-what_ with him, but he wasn't really willing to find out the hard way. He'd not be doing either of them any favours.

And so when they walked past each other in the corridors, Harry merely smiled and acted as if nothing had happened. The first time this happened, Oliver gave his a grateful smile and went off with his friends. It was better this way, Harry reassured himself. But he couldn't help but feel… what was the word? Used. Oh Merlin, now he sounded like one of Aunt Petunia's daytime soaps. All he needed now was to find out he was up the duff, like it invariably came to pass when someone had se –_ you know what – _with someone they shouldn't have done.

The thought made Harry laugh, and lifted his mood. He didn't need to mope around. After all, he'd gotten over his first time with minimal embarrassment. He should be proud that he hadn't screwed it up, _and_ that he'd done it before his friends. He couldn't see what the great draw was though. You-kn – _Oh for Merlin's sake! You should be able to say it now! _SEX wasn't that great at all.

It wasn't pleasant to have someone lying on top of you, squashing all your breath out, fumbling clumsily with your _bits_ and turning you over roughly. It wasn't pleasant to be left bleeding at the end either, although Harry had trained himself to roll his eyes as he had these thoughts. He'd heard that it was normal to bleed a little the first time. Or at least, he thought it was… or was that another piece of information that was only relevant to girls? Sex was so complicated and overrated, that Harry honestly couldn't see himself bothering again.

The rest of the school year was flying by, and Harry was glad that his little rendezvous with Oliver had happened so close to the end of term. He didn't think that he could put up with seeing the older Gryffindor everywhere for much longer. Only a little while to go until he could go home with Ron and the others! He wondered what Molly had done in their absence, seeing as she often complained of boredom, being alone at the Burrow for most of the year.

* * *

Before he knew it, the end of June came around, and he was saying goodbye to Hogwarts for another few months. Only a while until he'd be back, and this time, Oliver wouldn't be there. Harry couldn't help the smug grin that came up onto his face at this. He was going to be a fifth year! Thoughts of what he and Ron would get up to that summer pushed everything out of his mind, however, and he was soon left in dreams of frogspawn and Ginny's bedroom. 

He and Ron waved goodbye to Hermione, making plans to owl her during the holidays, before rushing over to the Weasleys to be included in the group hug consisting of Fred, George, Ginny and their mother. Percy (of course) stood off to one side, not quite sure where to put himself. Harry had no such qualms, and eagerly inserted himself into the sea of red hair and freckles. He'd missed this. Sure he had half the family with him at Hogwarts, but Molly and Arthur really made it complete.

The journey home was full of chatter, as per usual. They'd been loaned a car from the Ministry, so for once there wasn't squawking over who got to sit where. Fred and George were quite happy to talk over everybody else, speaking of all the prank ideas they'd had over the school year. Harry sighed, wishing that they'd accept money from him to start up their own prank shop. It'd give Zonko a run for his money! But much like all of the Weasleys, they had their pride, and wouldn't tolerate gifts of 'charity' from him. Nothing could persuade them otherwise. Harry felt it was a shame, but he wasn't going to force money on them. They'd find a way.

Upon reaching The Burrow, Harry found to his delight (as he was quite hungry after the long journey from school), that Molly had already prepared a meal. She warmed it quickly, and the family sat down to eat. It was at times like these that Harry was glad he'd made friends with Ron way back in their first year. Without him, Harry wouldn't have a family. He wouldn't have someone to tell all his stories of Hogwarts. The thought put a large smile on his face, which he directed at his best friend. Ron looked at him in a bemused fashion, but grinned back, passing Harry the potatoes.

Sitting on couches in the living room later on, the Weasley twins were telling their younger siblings and Harry more ideas that they'd had for their business.

"Y'see, we want to call the place WWW-" Fred started, his face lit up. "It's short for-"

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," George interrupted. Although, Harry didn't think it counted when twins interrupted each other. Weren't they like the same person anyway?

"Yeah, short for that. But anyway, we thought of a great new idea for a-"

"Prank range. This one would be based on-"

"Embarrassing stuff. Like how we had the idea for-"

"The lunchbox range!" Ginny snorted and rolled her eyes. They'd tested out their 'lunchboxes' on her, back when they'd been in their development stage, and neither she nor Molly had been very pleased. The 'Skiving Snackboxes' (as was their working title) had never really managed to make it off the ground.

"We just-" Fred continued, ignoring his sister.

"can't manage-"

"to think of anything-"

"_really_ embarrassing…" he finished, looking annoyed. Harry stayed quiet. He knew what would really embarrass_ him_ if any of the Weasleys found out, but he wasn't about to share that information, was he? At that thought, Harry let out a large yawn. He'd been so tired recently, what with the whole 'excitement' from the end of term and he felt that it was about time he went off to bed.

Saying his goodnight, Harry left the room just to hear the conversation starting up again.

"Maybe something that reveals someone's crush?"

"Ginny, that's just lame. How old are you, two?"

"She might have something there though…"

Harry snorted. Sometimes it was best to leave the Weasleys to the Weasleys. In fact, he actually didn't think that anything would come out of this new 'range' of products. How many ways were there to embarrass someone anyway?


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for my reviews, author alerts and the like :D It really brightened my day to see those in my inbox. And I know these are short chapters, but at least they'll be frequent :P

* * *

Harry woke up in the morning feeling rubbish. He could vaguely taste last night's dinner in the back of his throat, and he was still tired, despite knowing that he'd been asleep a good while. He groaned, and attempted to bury his way further under the covers, ignoring the cockerel he could hear outside. Bloody Weasleys – why'd they have to keep _chickens_ of all animals? Just when he thought that he was safe, and that he'd be allowed a lie-in for once, the duvet was ripped off him by his so-called _best_ friend. Harry glared blearily at Ron, fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses. After putting them on, he stared at on, practically daring him to speak. 

Ron dared.

"Morning chum! Mum wants us to go out and get rid of the gnomes today – they've been giving her some problems with the carrots." Harry moaned. But that was so much effort, and he was all hurty. When Ron blinked at him, Harry realised that he may have said the latter part out loud, and he blushed furiously.

"Sorry that you're… 'hurty', mate, but you've got half an hour to get up, or I'll get Fred and George to do it." Harry groaned and dragged himself out of his bed, moaning miserably when he hit the floor with a thump. The floors of The Burrow were so unforgiving, he thought with a scowl.

He'd somehow managed to manoeuvre his way into the bathroom and was brushing his teeth when he saw an odd sight in the mirror. Was it just him, or was his stomach… sticking out? Just the tiniest bit, but it definitely was. And he felt full, as if last night's dinner was still lodged in his stomach. Harry stared for a while longer, simply too shocked to turn away, the toothbrush hanging oddly out of the corner of his mouth.

Eventually he tore his eyes away from the mirror. Okay, so he was a little bloated. Well, they had had quite a big meal, and it was possible that it was just taking a while. He poked at his stomach experimentally, noting with distaste that it was squidgy. Another possible reason: he was getting fat. Obviously stopping Quidditch at the end of term had brought this on. For the holidays, he'd have to cut down on junk, and eat properly. Plus, he'd have to try and not give in to Molly's demands that he not only have seconds, he have thirds. And when he got back to school, he'd have to put a lot more effort into his sport.

By the end of the day, his stomach had gone down, and he didn't feel so heavy. He smiled triumphantly. So he wasn't fat, it _was_ just temporary bloating. That was a relief. Harry didn't really want to have to double his Quidditch time. They were already on the pitch three days a week (which the Slytherins _always_ complained about) – he didn't exactly need to up the time, did he?

That night, Harry went to sleep with thoughts of all the roast beef sandwiches with gravy that he wouldn't now have to miss out on. Yum.

* * *

Before Harry knew it, it was his birthday. However, he felt absolutely awful. For the past week, he'd not been able to keep a thing down, and the birthday party that the Weasleys had planned had had to be cancelled, which Harry had protested against (but been overruled, of course). In addition, every time Molly decided to cook something with gravy in the kitchen, his stomach would give a violent roll, and he'd be forced to race to the bathroom. Many times, he'd not quite made it, and he was embarrassed to have to ask Molly to clear up his messes.

Sometimes, he'd need the toilet really badly, and feel sick at the same time. Those moments were absolute torture, being sick into the toilet bowl, and at the same time, trying not to wet himself. He'd been unable to go to the Ministry with the Weasleys to see how Percy did on his Apparating test, and when everyone had come home gushing at the former Head Boy, Harry had retreated to Ron and his room and sulked. Everyone had just assumed he felt sick again.

It was at the point where Molly had called a Healer from St. Mungo's to take a look at him. _Great_, Harry thought sarcastically, _my birthday gets to be spent being poked and prodded by a doctor. _So_ much better than the Dursleys…_ Even as he thought the words, Harry felt guilty. Of _course_ the Weasleys were better than the Dursleys. Harry had rejoiced the day Arthur asked him to move in with them, and he'd never regretted it before. And, he reminded himself, he still didn't.

Harry felt his stomach rumbling, and he looked down at it with a frown. He was getting podgy again, like he'd noticed a month ago when first coming home. Except now, it was… hard. Or firm, like muscle. And he'd barely been eating for the past month and a half, feeling too nauseous half of the time. In fact, he probably had a tumour, and was going to die slowly and painfully, Harry thought flippantly. As soon as he thought this, however, his eyebrows rose in shock, as he seriously considered the notion. But… he'd never get to be an Auror!

Harry shook his head, not allowing himself to entertain the thought that the Healer might come in and tell him that he was going to die. His stomach rumbled again, and Harry decided to make his way down to the kitchen. Maybe he could find something that wasn't completely repulsive to eat, and that he could keep down. Maybe an apple would go down well. At the very least, he had to try, before the sound of his stomach drowned out any other noise.

Wrapped in his blanket, Harry made his way to the kitchen, where he could head his surrogate family laughing away. Scowling at the thought of not being included in the joke (it was probably a _family _thing, he thought snidely), Harry stalked into the kitchen, and the laughing stopped. In only a second, the room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Feeling uncomfortable, Harry let out a surly "what?" noting that Bill and Charlie were at home, completing the Weasley clan. Ron was pale, and his freckles stood out in stark relief against his face as he pointed to the space above Harry's head in the doorway.

"Fred and George… they uh, perfected one of… their 'embarrassment' pranks. You… you put it above a door, and it tells you… if, uh, someone has done… _you-know-what_ with… someone…" The silence somehow grew as Harry walked a little into the room and turned around slowly. There, just above where he had been standing was a hovering blue date: _June 10__th__, 1995_. Harry flushed, slowly and deliberately. They knew now. Knew that he was a slut who slept around with people before he was supposed to. Like they'd want him to stay in the house now, when Ginny and Ron had blatantly not turned up a date like he had… Like they'd want him corrupting their_ real_ children. Harry ran up to his room, shutting the door deliberately and slumping down in a heap on his bed, wrapping the blanket more firmly around himself. He wasn't surprised when no one came up to talk to him.


	4. Chapter 4

I am not good at medical explanations, as you will see in this chapter :P Thanks to everyone who reviewed or put me on alert!

* * *

A few hours later, judging by the way the sun was no longer burning patterns into his retinas, Harry heard a timid knock on the door. He froze, sitting up in an instant, his hair a fluffy mess on top of his head. Who was attempting to talk to him? He would have thought that they'd leave him alone for at least a day. He wasn't sure whether to say 'come in' or tell the person to bugger off, so he settled for saying absolutely nothing.

Molly came into the room, her eyes down and wringing her hands nervously.

"Harry, Healer Jacobs is here to see you. I thought… I thought that you might still be up to seeing him today, but if you're not, then I can send him away…" She trailed off, coughing. Harry could practically _hear_ the reluctance in her voice. She wanted to run away and never have to speak to him again. He was a disgrace, wasn't he? God, Oliver had been right. He shook his head, and Molly seemed to take this as an indication that he was fine with the Healer coming in.

The man was tall and stern looking, and Harry could feel himself shrinking away. Trust St. Mungo's to send the scariest looking guy they had on their staff. Black eyes looked out at him from a weathered face which was half obscured by a bushy brown beard. Harry's mouth opened in horror and he barely resisted the urge to scuttle under his blankets. Molly coughed again lightly and left the room, mumbling something about making lunch.

Harry was let staring at Jacobs, not quite sure what to say. The man was scrutinising him through wire-framed glasses and an uncomfortable silence was developing. Just when Harry couldn't take it anymore, and was opening his mouth to say something, _anything_, the Healer began to speak.

"So, Harry, I hear you've been feeling a little bit under the weather recently?" Harry couldn't believe that a voice so gentle and reassuring could belong to such an imposing man. He felt, quite suddenly, at ease, although he was still worried over what was wrong with him.

"Could you tell me what you think your symptoms have been, then? Just tell me how you've been feeling poorly, and I'll try and work out what could be wrong," Jacobs continued, smiling at Harry; his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

"Um, well…" Now that he had the chance to figure out what exactly was wrong with him, Harry couldn't think of what to say. What if the Healer just thought he was exaggerating? What if he thought Harry was just being a drama queen? But, taking a deep breath, he decided to get it over and done with. After all, the Healer wasn't going to repeat what he said to anyone, was he?

"I get sick a lot… like, mostly in the morning, but it happens all the time, 'specially when I smell Molly cooking some stuff in the kitchen or whatever. Sometimes it's hard, 'cos I'm tired a lot, and I… can't get to the bathroom in time. I also…" here he blushed, "I need the… toilet a lot." He stopped here, hoping the doctor wouldn't want him to elaborate. When the Healer merely nodded, Harry went on, just knowing that the doctor was going to diagnose him with some kind of cancer. "And… my stomach's getting… bigger, and it's all hard and stuff…"

Harry trailed off, looking down at the bedcovers, trying to avoid Jacobs's gaze. When the Healer said nothing, Harry chanced a look over at him, only to see that he was writing down things in a notebook and frowning sadly. _It was cancer, wasn't it?_ Harry thought with a shocked jolt. He had never heard of wizards getting cancer, although maybe he could because he was part muggle… He cleared his throat, hoping to bring the man's attention back to him, and it succeeded. The man looked grave.

"Does the area around your nipples feel at all tender or sore?" Harry blushed, but nodded.

"I thought that that was just from when Ron hit me in the chest when we were playing Quidditch, though…" The man's eyes shot up.

"You've been playing Quidditch? With Beaters?" he asked incredulously, scribbling away in his notebook.

"Well, yeah. Sometimes I don't feel so bad, and I go out to play…" Harry couldn't see what the matter was. He didn't _always_ feel like rubbish.

When the doctor had finished making notes, and comparing them to other notes, he sighed and looked at Harry seriously.

"Harry. Have you engaged in sexual intercourse with a male at all in the past two months?" Harry's previous blush escalated until he was sure that his whole head had gone bright red, like Uncle Vernon's used to when he was really mad. Were the Weasley twins sure that _this_ wasn't another of their 'embarrassment' range? But when Jacobs looked pointedly at him, Harry had to respond feebly,

"Well, yes. Um, June 10th." He'd been reminded of the date quite viciously this morning, so he was quite sure that that was the exact day.

"Right. Well, if you'd wait for just a moment, I need to firecall St. Mungo's for some equipment and talk to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." He stood up, putting the notebook into a pocket and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Harry could hear voices outside of the door, and he paled, wondering if Molly or Arthur had been listening. Not that they'd heard anything they didn't know of course.

Waiting for Healer Jacobs seemed to take a million years, even though it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. Harry was wringing his hands, and didn't seem to be able to stop. He had cancer, he had cancer, he had cancer… with the mantra running through his head, Harry didn't even notice when Jacobs came back into the room, holding a very strange looking wand. It was a light blue in colour, and seemed to be made out of some kind of stone… Harry had no clue what it was, but he wasn't about to say so.

"Lie back on the bed and unbutton your shirt, please." Harry took it off nervously and lay back, pushing his duvet off the side of the bed and reminding himself that this was only a doctor, and not some kind of pervy old man. Jacobs placed a warm hand on his slightly curved stomach and pressed down gently, obviously feeling resistance from the other side. He lifted the strange wand and muttered a spell, resulting in a blue glow falling over Harry's abdomen. The glow slowly turned a shade of turquoise, and this seemed to confirm the doctor's suspicions, as he sighed and the light went out.

"It's cancer, isn't it?" Harry blurted out, unable to stop himself any longer. The Healer chuckled and shook his head.

"No Harry, this isn't something that can be cured simply." Harry's eyes widened. He was going to die? Jacobs must have noted his anxiety for his next words were mildly reassuring.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. Now, would you like me to call in your parents?" Harry had never heard them referred to as such, but he supposed it was true. After all, they'd looked after him for the past four years, and they were as close to parents as he'd ever had, even if they didn't want him anymore. He nodded his head, and the Healer went to the door, where he beckoned in the eldest Weasleys, who were pale and nervous looking. Molly rushed to his side and hugged him, then sat down by his side, clutching his hand. Arthur squeezed his shoulder briefly, and sat on his other side, placing a reassuring hand on his knee. Harry was close to tears, as he didn't know how he'd ever doubted the Weasleys' love.

"Harry, I know you're worried about what we think, son, but don't wind yourself up. Molly and I and all the kids love you just as much as we always did, okay?" Harry sniffed and nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat.

"Harry, there is a reason why the wizards speak of seventeen as the age children become adults." the Healer began. "Under the age of seventeen, magic has not yet settled in the body, and can be transferred quite easily to another person. Sex is one of the times when this can occur. In essence, a part of your magic detaches itself from your magical core and goes towards the other person." Harry was confused. So… he was sick because he'd accidentally given Oliver some of his magic? The Healer continued.

"Now, if you had been the dominant in the partnership," Harry's ears began to burn, "this is where it would have ended. However, judging by the results before us today, this was not the case. Where the detached part of your magic reached the semen that entered your body," Harry couldn't stop himself from letting out a small groan at the word, "an interesting reaction would have taken place. Now, I'm sure you're not interested in the magic behind this at the moment, but it ends with your magic merging with the semen, the essence of your partner, and moving back into your body." Molly gasped, but Harry was still lost.

"I don't get it… What exactly does that mean?"

"It means, Harry, that you're pregnant." A few seconds, then,

"WHAT?"


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to the people who put this story or me on alert, but _double_ thanks to those who reviewed! I really love seeing that people are enjoying the story :D

* * *

After it had been explained to him again, Harry was finally able to come to terms with the fact that he was up the duff. That it was entirely possible for a boy to become pregnant, and in fact, the pregnancy rate for underage witches (and wizards acting the submissive part in a relationship) was one hundred percent because of the magic detachment reaction. Harry was annoyed. Why hadn't Oliver told him this would happen? Knowing that Harry had been raised by muggles? Had he been too drunk to realise the repercussions of his actions? Was _this_ why he'd said not to tell anyone? Not to let anyone find out? Harry's lip curled at the thought. _What a bastard._

"So, once we contact the other father-"

"I don't want to do that," Harry interrupted. Jacobs frowned at him.

"Harry, he must be informed, as in the Wizarding World, family is very important, and all children need to know their parents and vice versa. It stemmed from inheritance issues that used to pop up quite frequently." Harry scowled. As if Oliver would care about any child of Harry's. No, it'd be the kids of his _precious_ fiancée, wouldn't it?

"I don't see why he needs to know if I'm not keeping it." Jacobs looked confused, then said,

"Even children put up for adoption must meet the same criteria. I must add, in addition, that adoption is usually hard on the child, as it becomes common knowledge just who their parents are."

"Isn't it possible for me to… have an abortion?" There was shocked silence and Harry squirmed uneasily. What, had he made yet _another_ faux pas? What was wrong with wanting to wait until he was out of Hogwarts and with someone he loved? Why did he have to ruin his life raising a child, undoubtedly on his own, seeing as there was no way Oliver would care (he'd demonstrated that quite thoroughly)? Why did _he_ have to deal with puking every morning for the next god knows how long for a kid he didn't even want?

"Harry, abortion is something not practised in the Wizarding World unless the mother, or father, as in your case, is in grave danger… Too many things can go wrong, often with the parent losing their magic altogether. You have no life threatening diseases that could jeopardise the pregnancy, so unless you lose the baby through natural means, the pregnancy will not be terminated." Harry scowled again. How convenient. Have the baby, let it be unwanted its entire life and know that he was to blame, or become a Squib. What a wealth of choice.

So he shut up and listened to how the more annoying of his symptoms could be alleviated with a series of potions, and how he would go to Mungo's for a check-up once monthly; more frequently if required. Harry let it all wash over his head; still lost in the information he'd been given. No wonder Oliver had wanted them not to mention it again. He hadn't wanted to be held responsible when Harry found out. Idiot. Harry rolled his eyes when Jacobs told him he was underweight, and needed to put on more if the baby was to be born healthy. What a fabulous birthday surprise this'd been.

That night, he and Ron stayed up late, talking about what Harry was to do now. It'd gone over well with the rest of the family, and while Percy had stuttered and gone red, the rest of the family had had nothing but support from him. Too bad he didn't want it. Ron was the only one who seemed to get this, being the same age, and with the same interests. Even Fred and George were talking along the lines of how they'd 'raise the kid to be the best prankster ever', which was the lamest thing Harry'd ever heard.

"I suppose you'll have to owl the other dad for a meeting then, 'cos-" Ron stopped. "Hey, Harry, who is the other dad?" Harry stayed quiet. Could he trust Ron to keep it a secret? Probably… Ron _was_ his best friend after all.

"You can't tell anyone, okay?"

"Sure. Not a soul."

"Right. Well, you know there was that party, and then I disappeared and you and Hermione asked where I was and I didn't say even when you poked and prodded-"

"Yes Harry. I remember, mate. No need to go on. Who did you disappear with, though?"

"Uhh… Oliver Wood…"

"_Wood?_ Harry, he's ancient! But… I suppose it's cool that, you know, you've done _it_. And at least it wasn't Snape!" They laughed, and Harry finally felt a little better about the whole thing. The two said goodnight to each other and blew out their candles, and Harry was drifting off to sleep when Ron spoke again quietly.

"Harry mate, you could have told me you liked… _blokes_. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it, of course, but…" Harry grinned.

"Don't worry, Ron, I never looked at you in the showers."

"Blimey, I never even thought of-"

"Good night, Ron."

"But-"

"_Good night._"

* * *

Before Harry knew it, it was time to pick up their school supplies again. He'd pretended to send an owl to Oliver a few days after his birthday (when in fact he'd just been renewing his subscription to the Daily Prophet for the new school year), and everyone thought he was meeting up with the 'mystery man' now. Fat chance. He was going to Fortescue's, to get some of that lovely banoffee ice cream the man had started selling in Easter. So it was, to his absolute disgust, that he saw just the man he'd been attempting to avoid sitting down at a table with a _girl_. The girl was pretty, and she had a _lovely_ ring on her finger. Oliver'd probably spent his first paycheck on it, Harry sneered.

After purchasing his ice cream, Harry sat down at a table near them and watched what they were doing, irritated that they could possibly be having a good time when he was stuck with a _baby_ at fifteen years old. He ate his ice cream viciously, startling an old couple sitting nearby. From the looks of it, they were discussing their _wedding_, and Harry was incensed to find that the girl had a beautiful laugh to boot. Suddenly, Harry could stand it no longer, and he walked over to their table with a fixed smile on his face.

"Oliver, great to see you! So _this _must be the girlfriend you were talking about – I can see why she'd be on your mind a lot," Harry said, smiling winningly. Oliver had frozen upon his arrival, and now sent him a warning glance.

"Harry… hi. You must be getting your school books, right?" Harry was about to answer when Oliver's girlfriend piped up.

"Ollie, aren't you going to introduce us? Does he go to Hogwarts?" She had a pretty, light French accent, and Harry found him hating her all the more for it. If she hadn't been in the picture, would Oliver have cast him off as he did? Well, probably, considering the age gap. After all, he had said it was _practically illegal_, which Harry now knew was a lie.

"Collette, this is Harry Potter; Harry, this is my _fiancée_, Collette Duchamp." Harry didn't miss the emphasis on fiancée – he'd have to have been deaf not to.

"Ollie, you never told me you knew Harry Potter? How?"

"Oh, well Harry was my," cough "the Seeker for Gryffindor, and I was Team Captain," Oliver said, smiling. They went with the small talk route for a while, Oliver quite noticeably tense, and Harry just happy to make him squirm. After a while, Oliver couldn't take it anymore.

"Collette, mind if Harry and I talk privately for a little while? There are a few things I want to talk to him about – a friend of his does wedding design." He added a charming wink and Collette smiled lovingly at him before entering a jewellery shop nearby.

Oliver and Harry sat in silence for a while, Harry content to sit there looking at the ex-Gryffindor. _Why_ couldn't Oliver have…? Harry sighed. What was done was done, Oliver had a girlfriend and Harry was pregnant. Which, surprisingly enough, he now had to break to the other.

"Look, Harry, I thought we agreed not to talk with each other anymore." Harry didn't know that they'd agreed any such thing, but whatever. He'd act cold – it was possibly the only way he could do this without losing his nerve.

"I don't exactly want to talk to you, but as you neglected to give me an _important_ piece of information, something unfortunate has occurred." Oliver looked confused, and then it was as if a light went off behind his eyes.

"Shit."

"Yeah, that'd be about right." Harry hadn't ever known he could make himself sound so condescending. Oliver's eyes darted off to the side and he ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"Uh, if you want money or something…"

"I've got plenty of my own, Oliver, I don't need yours."

"Then what _do_ you want? Like I said before, this could ruin me, and doubly so now that you're… you know. Sorry about that night, but I was _drunk_. I want to raise a family with Collette; what do you expect me to do? I can't exactly acknowledge that your baby's mine, can I?" Harry couldn't help himself from feeling stung, but then again, he shouldn't have expected any better. _He_ didn't want the thing, so why would Oliver, when he didn't even have to?

"Don't worry, I won't 'out' you to the public. I wouldn't want you to lose your job after all," Harry snorted. "I only told you because apparently it's a requirement that everyone knows who their parents are and vice versa. It cuts down on inheritance issues. And don't worry-" Harry said, cutting off Oliver before he could even start, "I wouldn't expect you to leave any money to him or her when you die."

There was an awkward silence, which was thankfully broken by Collette coming back to the table. She seemed not to notice the tense atmosphere, and instead she smiled at Harry and took Oliver's hand.

"Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I've just spotted a really beautiful necklace in the jeweller's, and I'd like Oliver to see it," she said, with a wink at Harry. "It was very nice meeting you, Harry, and I do hope you'll be attending our wedding this upcoming Christmas." Harry's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but then a lopsided grin made its way onto his face.

"If that's alright with you two…"

"But of course! Isn't that right, Ollie?" The man cringed, but managed to speak.

"Sure. We'll send an invitation sometime soon, I guess." And before anymore could be said, Collette was dragging her husband-to-be off, shouting a quick 'goodbye' over her shoulder.

Harry snapped his plastic spoon in half, frustrated. He couldn't bring himself to hate Collette, she was just too pleasant a person. However, Oliver on the other hand… offering him money! Like he was some kind of whore or something. Having come to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies and hopefully take his mind off this whole thing, Harry was not very pleased at all to have encountered the man. How intensely irritating.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for the alerts, and especially thanks for the reviews :D

I usually reply to reviews using the reply function, but Argo doesn't seem to have that - skip this bit if you're not interested! As I explain below, the threat of Voldemort isn't an issue in my story, so Harry isn't able to use that. And my Wizarding World is definitely an unfair one; one that is firmly stuck in the past in some respects. Victims of rape would still have to give birth to the child unless there were extenuating circumstances, such as the ones I outlined in the previous chapter. As for your other review, there will be a lot of suffering for Harry yet, and it _won't _all be resolved by the end of this story. I'm glad you like Harry's attitude, and I think you're quite accurate about Hermione as well.

Argo also made me realise that I hadn't given background information on this AU. When I first started, the plotline was a lot different to how it is now. In my version, Voldemort never discovered how to make Horcruxes, so when the curse rebounded off Harry, he was killed. The only time I mention this, I think is in this line: _'Sometimes Harry wondered if it was true, if he'd really defeated Voldemort when he was only a year old...'_ I guess I just didn't want to waste a load of time and energy putting that in when it isn't really an important part of the story. There's more, to do with Lucius, but that'll spoil things, so I'll keep that under wraps until the sequel ;)

And finally, **how many of you think that Oliver raped Harry**? It's popped up in a few reviews now, and I'm curious. I don't mean statutory rape (which it was, as Harry is underage), but as in forcing Harry against his will to have sex with him. I'd really like it if people responded - I genuinely want to know!

* * *

Harry was lugging the heaviest trunk in the whole of Hogwarts to the train. Or at least, he was supposed to be, but it was being levitated for him, due to his 'delicate' condition. He was pretty sure that he could have done it without hurting the baby (not that he particularly cared) but Arthur would have none of it. Ron said he was jealous of Harry, but Harry would have given anything to switch their positions right now. He absolutely _hated_ being pregnant. 

For the last part of the holiday, he'd had to lie at home in bed, getting fatter and fatter on the 'doctor's orders'. It wasn't only on his stomach that he could feel the fat. Ron said that for once in his life, he didn't look like a street urchin, but Harry didn't care. What if he _wanted_ to look like that? He knew it was girly to care so much about his looks, but… well, he _was_ pregnant, wasn't he? He might as well have the thoughts to match the bits he was told he was going to develop. Ew.

They met up with Hermione on the platform, and by the way she was looking at his stomach (he _knew_ he wasn't showing that much, especially not when he was in clothes), and he way Ron was blushing, he knew Ron had let the cat out of the bag. Harry fumed, but didn't make a scene. Once they got on the train, however, things could change… Did that mean he'd told that Oliver was… Harry wasn't sure that he'd forgive him if that was the case. He'd asked him not to tell anyone. It was a _secret_. See if he ever told Ron anything ever again.

There was a tearful goodbye, with Molly telling the twins and Ron to make sure that Harry and Ginny were well looked after. Ginny rolled her eyes affectionately, as she did every year, but Harry didn't know how he felt being on the other side of the 'look after' speech. He wasn't entirely sure he liked the implication that he couldn't do it himself. But he kept these thoughts quiet, and hugged Molly and Arthur goodbye. He wasn't going to see them until Christmas, although that was going to be _interesting,_ what with Oliver and Collette's wedding.

Ginny went to go and sit with her boyfriend (although Ron refused to believe she had one) and friends, and Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in a compartment by themselves. Harry was tired, so he enlarged the pillow that he kept in his pocket and laid it a few seats down, hoping to get some sleep. The train journey was just _too_ long. But something was preventing him from drifting off. He opened an eye sleepily to see Ron and Hermione sitting stiffly and silently.

"…Guys?" he asked, confused. They started, not expecting to hear his voice, and Harry covered a smile.

"Yeah, Harry? What's the matter?" Ron said, breaking the silence.

"Why are you two being so quiet?" He saw Ron and Hermione share a look, and that's when he began to get annoyed. It was clearly visible on his face, and Hermione was the one who dared speak next.

"Well, we thought that sleep was very important when you're… you know, so we thought it would be bad to… interrupt your sleeping." Now he was _quite_ angry.

"I'm not made of paper. A little bit of noise isn't going to make me miscarry. Not that I care." Ron winced quite hard, and Hermione blanched. Obviously Ron hadn't told her about any of the 'incidents' in which it had been realised that Harry couldn't give a toss about the baby growing inside of him – that in fact, he'd named it the 'parasite' (for its ability to suck all the joy from his life, apparently).

Before Hermione could open her mouth to say something Harry would make her regret, Ron changed the topic of conversation.

"Hey, 'Mione, are you a prefect too?" Trust Ron to bring up the only other topic guaranteed to make him angry. When Ron had received the prefect letter, and Harry hadn't, he'd smiled and laughed with the rest of them, but been incensed inside. Why hadn't _he_ been made a Prefect? He got way better marks than Ron. He would go as far as to say that he was one of the top five in his year. When Hermione grinned and they began talking about the Prefect meeting that was going to start in a few minutes, Harry couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, intending to leave the cabin.

"Hey, where are you going?" Ron asked, surprised. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, seeing as you two are leaving for the _perfect Prefect_ meeting, I'm off to find somewhere else to sit. I don't exactly want to be on my own." The two shared _another_ look, but said nothing. Harry waited for a moment, then left.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going to go. He _didn't_ want to sit with Ginny, who thought he was taking his pregnancy badly (well, of course) and that he should be more loving towards the parasite. Fat chance. And honestly, he didn't really like many more people (or know them that well). Maybe he'd have to make more of an effort, then. He sighed. It was great having Ron as his best friend, but sometimes the jealousy of the other could get in the way of things.

From the corridor, he randomly selected a door and knocked. When he heard a quiet 'come in', he walked in and was shocked to see the sight of Draco Malfoy, alone. He'd never really talked to the boy before, and _never_ seen him without his entourage. After all, he _was_ a Slytherin, and Molly and Arthur said they were the place Dark Wizards came from. But he couldn't help but remember Mafalda, Ron's cousin, who happened to be in that particular house. They seemed to forget that fact every time she came over, but she was actually really sweet, and Harry liked her, so he'd just have to try with Malfoy.

"Sorry, Malfoy, but may I sit with you? My friends have gone to the Prefect meeting, and…" He wasn't sure really where to continue with his sentence. Draco looked up from the book he was reading (Harry noted that his glasses looked very good, unlike his own) and nodded, a small smile lifting up the corner of his mouth. Harry sat down gingerly, feeling a fluttering in his stomach that definitely wasn't the parasite. Nervousness? Why? Draco went back to his book after a few moments of silence, and Harry endeavoured to get to know the boy.

"Malfoy, I would have thought that you would be a Prefect this year, how come you're not?" Malfoy put the book down, seemingly glad to have a conversation instead of having to read a book.

"My father thought I would be better suited this year concentrating on my studies, and I agreed with him. I hope to beat Granger this year, in fact. However, I may have said the same for you, Potter. Why is Ronald Weasley Prefect over you? You come consistently higher every year." Harry scowled.

"No, I'm not sure what the deal is with that either. I work hard for my marks, and he's just average… Well, I hope to ask McGonagall when we get to school. I can't see that she'll have any reason that will satisfy me, however." Malfoy laughed, and Harry found himself quite liking the sound.

They'd had quite an interesting conversation, Draco (the boy had said he was tired of hearing his last name) and he had managed to talk quite civilly (if not warmly) for the past few hours. Draco was quite surprised to find out that Harry took his studies very seriously, but Harry informed him that he took after his mother in that respect. He'd learned all sorts of things about the other, and he could quite firmly say that there was nothing wrong with Slytherin as a house. Mafalda was fine, and Draco was fine. Surely they couldn't be the only two good Slytherins in history, could they? Harry didn't think that was possible. Well, they had been getting on quite well before Ron had butted in.

_"Harry, do you think you might want to… meet up at school some time? __Maybe in the library if you have trouble with something?"_ Malfoy had said. Harry had smiled and nodded, a light blush on his face. By the answering blush on Draco's face, Harry had been able to tell that they had the same interest in mind. Harry had been about to ask Draco something (what it was now, he had no idea), when Ron had opened the door, looking annoyed.

_"Harry, loads of people were saying you were in this cabin with Malfoy! I knew they were being stupid. What kind of thicko would sit with that idiot of their own free will?"_ Draco had coughed, and Harry had flushed with anger. Why couldn't Ron look around before he spoke?

"_Obviously me, Ron._"Ron had seen Malfoy and had gone rather pale, usually a sign of his shock, or his anger… Harry was under no illusion as to which one it was now. He'd been dragged out of the cabin with only the chance to wave goodbye to his new acquaintance. Ron had pushed him back into the cabin they'd been in before, where all their things still were and slammed the door. Apparently, Hermione was talking to Ginny, and would be changed before they saw her again.

And so here they were. Ron wasn't talking to him because he'd 'betrayed' him or something. When asked how, precisely, Harry had done so, Ron couldn't even give a straight answer. Basically, he felt that Malfoy shouldn't be talked to because he was Malfoy, and not because he'd actually done anything wrong. There was some kind of family feud between the Weasleys and Malfoys, so _of course_ it was alright for Ron to hate Draco for absolutely no reason at all. Rolling his eyes, Harry decided that it was about time he got dressed.

To put his robe on, he had to pull off the bulky jumper he was wearing. His shirt rose up a couple of inches, and he could practically _feel_ Ron staring at his stomach. Self-consciously, he pulled the hem of his top down again and looked at Ron with a quirked eyebrow.

"What, never seen a pregnant bloke before?" He said with a smirk. Just like that, the tension in the cabin dissipated, and Ron let forth, with,

"Blimey! I didn't realise you were getting bigger, I suppose. Sorry for being rough on you, and everything." Harry shrugged. Like he had said before, it wasn't as if he cared. But he refrained from saying it again, knowing how uncomfortable it made his friends to hear him speak of his child as a parasite. Which it was.


	7. Chapter 7

I'd still like to have responses to the question I asked last chapter - it's interesting to see others' points of view :D

* * *

The feast was great for the most part. He shared a smile with Draco from across the Hall, watched a bunch of people get sorted, and ate a tonne of great food. Seemed like gravy wasn't a problem for him anymore, and it couldn't have been, not with the amount he poured on his mash. Food really was great, except when you had to eat it just to get fat so your baby would be 'healthy'. And it was talk of the baby that ruined his meal in the end.

"Just think, in eleven years, your son or daughter will be getting sorted! Isn't that scary to think of? We'll only be twenty-six or so…" Hermione said. Harry would rather not. Fantastic. While all his friends were out having fun, or advancing up the career ladder, Harry would be stuck at home, wasting his parents' money. It wasn't as if anyone would want to marry someone who already had a family that was too old to integrate themselves into. So he'd have no one to share the burden with, and that thought scared him. He _hated_ thinking of his future now, when before it had been pretty exciting – dreaming of stardom as an Auror.

"Yes, thank you for the reminder that my life is going to be crap. I really appreciate it." Hermione scowled at him, and he thought that someone was _finally_ going to tell him off for being such an arsehole to them, but no such luck. Instead, he saw Hermione mouth the word 'hormones' to herself, and he was now officially in a bad mood. He would have stormed off if he had known the password, but as it were, he was going to have to stay put. Well, unless…

"'Mione, I'm getting a bit tired," he said, hand covering his stomach lightly. If she didn't get the hint, then everyone in the school was giving her more credit than she deserved. "Do you think you could give me the password so I could lie down?" Eyes squinty behind the glasses as if tired…

"Of course! It's about time you started thinking of… you know." Harry refrained from rolling his eyes despite wanting to quite desperately. "Password is Aurora Borealis." Harry nodded and clambered over the bench, sending a glance over to the Slytherin table. The fact that Draco was still looking at him put a smile on his face, which he carried all the way to the common room.

As he changed into his pyjamas that evening, Harry caught sight of his lightly rounded stomach in the mirror. Did… did he have to tell Draco about it? It would be great to be able to be normal again, to not have people mollycoddling him all the time. All his closest friends knew about the parasite, but Draco didn't. If the other boy found out, then fair enough, but he _certainly_ wasn't going to be the one to tell him. He'd be dropped in a second, wouldn't he?

The next morning, Harry piled his plate full of waffles and syrup, and was quite enjoying himself when he noticed he could _feel_ Hermione's evil glare boring into his forehead.

"What?" Obviously, she hadn't interpreted this as an indication to get back to her own meal like he'd intended, as she began to speak.

"You shouldn't be eating that junk anymore: you have to eat healthily! It's alright for Ron to stuff himself full of that rubbish but you should be thinking of the," she looked around at this point, to make sure no one was eavesdropping on the conversation, "baby. It's not going to be healthy if you don't look after yourself. Plus, I don't think someone your size should be eating as much as Ron for Merlin's sake!" Harry placed down his fork gingerly. So he _was_ getting fat, then. Hermione had all but said it. What was he supposed to do? Healer Jacobs had said he needed to gain weight; said he was _under_ for his height, but he didn't want to look fat. But then again, at five foot five, he and Hermione were of a height, and she wasn't fat. She looked alright. So… was he supposed to weigh more or less than her? This was all hurting his head, and he pushed away his waffles miserably, picking up an apple instead. From now, he was going to eat what he liked, no matter what anyone said. If he wanted to eat nothing, he would, and no one would stop him.

The timetables came around, and Harry found himself excited over it. Even if he wouldn't be able to continue with the training after school, he could at least lay the groundwork for his Auror course. Maybe he'd be able to begin when the parasite entered Hogwarts. He unfolded it and was surprised to see that a good chunk of his lessons were missing… Charms was there, as was Divination… But where were Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions? Confusedly, he took a look at Hermione's timetable to see that all of her subjects were there, and the same went for Ron. Just when he was getting annoyed, a slip of paper fell from the timetable with only a few words on it.

_Harry,_

_Please come to Professor Dumbledore's office after Breakfast._

_Professor McGonagall_

What the hell was going on? Gathering his things, Harry said goodbye to his friends, taking the journey up to the Professor's office. He hadn't been here too often before, unlike Fred and George, who had been _so_ close to expulsion _so_ many times Mrs. Weasley had lost count. Professor Dumbledore scared him a little, but that was to be expected in Harry's opinion, what with his awfully strange beard. Even after having been in the Wizarding World for years now, Harry had never seen such a long beard. He reached the office before long, and the Gargoyle moved. Well, at least he didn't have to guess what the password to the office was.

Trying to swallow past a lump in his throat, Harry ascended the stairs. Why had half of his classes been taken away? It didn't make any sense to him. Having reached the top of the stairway, Harry knocked softly. When there was no answer for a few seconds, he knocked again, louder this time. Maybe he hadn't been heard…

Before he could dwell too long on this, the door swung open and he was met with the sight of Albus Dumbledore. The man had always scared Harry slightly; he didn't know what it was about him, though. What he did know, however, was that this man had sent him to live with the Dursleys for ten years of his life, and those were years of childhood he'd never get back.

He'd never understood why the man had sent him there – the explanation of 'blood protection' meant nothing to him. Voldemort was dead. He'd been dead for a long time now, _everyone_ knew the story. Sometimes Harry wondered if it was true, if he'd really defeated Voldemort when he was only a year old, but then he shook it off. It wasn't as if his life had been made any better by it.

The man was sitting behind his desk, looking weary. There were four chairs in front of the desk: two were already occupied. Harry's eyes widened minutely upon seeing Professor McGonagall there, as well as Madame Pomfrey _and_… Healer Jacobs? What was he doing here? The penny dropped. _Oh_. This was all about the parasite, wasn't it? When Dumbledore motioned to the empty chair, conveniently (for them) placed right in the middle of the others, Harry sat reluctantly, already uninterested in what they had to say. McGonagall began to speak first.

"Mr. Potter. Due to the… incident that happened last year, and your subsequent… condition, we have had to make changes to your timetable." She looked clearly uncomfortable, and Harry knew all she wanted to do was tell him he was expelled. Quite frankly, he didn't know why he hadn't been. Probably due to his 'status' and the scandal it would cause, although he could tell that his head of house couldn't care less. He was still confused, however. Why would subjects need to be taken off? Healer Jacobs now took up the speaking.

"These subjects are ones which pose a threat to the health of you and your baby during this pregnancy. Due to the nature of the spells on the syllabus for Transfiguration, ergo large animals to objects and vice versa, there is a great risk of a spell missing the intended target and hitting you. If you were to transform into a teacup, there's no telling what would happen to your child, and if your child were to be transfigured into a knife…" The end of the sentence didn't really need to be said out loud for Harry to want to throw up. Right. Transfig. was out if he didn't want to die. But the other two…? The Healer continued.

"Defence is out of the question as well. Things will be quite physical, and rough, as the students this year will be practising duelling. Even a Jelly Legs could be disastrous for you, Harry." He could see it now. Falling over onto his stomach and… Wait. It wasn't as if he cared if the parasite died, right? So what if he fell over then… The scowl that had been threatening to break out appeared, and Jacobs seemed to sigh; his shoulders drooping. Harry guessed that Jacobs still remembered his distaste for the child in general. _Good_, he thought. _Don't want people thinking I _want_ it or anything. Because I _don't.

Madame Pomfrey finished up what was turning out to be a bit of a tag-team, with the last part of the speech. Harry merely rolled his eyes. He'd had enough.

"And as for Potions, surely you can see why this isn't an option, Potter. The fumes from the potions, not to mention the potions themselves are all far too dangerous. I can't allow it." Who cared about _her?_ What if he _wanted_ to do it? Harry turned to Dumbledore, pleadingly. He couldn't let this happen…

"Professor, I _need _to do these subjects! If I don't get OWLs in them, then I can't do them for NEWTs, and I won't be able to be an Auror…" Dumbledore looked grim, the familiar sparkle in his eyes gone. Harry had never seen him look so miserable.

"I'm sorry, my boy, but the danger to your health is too much to overlook. We want you to be as safe as you possibly can in this old school, and if we have to set back your career options by a few years to do so, then we will." He looked uncomfortable here, and McGonagall coughed.

"Mr. Potter, I'm sure you wouldn't have read up on this, thinking it to not be a problem that would ever apply to you, but there are rules and regulations regarding families and Aurors…" Harry waited. He _knew_ this was going to be bad.

"As you know, most start Auror training at age eighteen and ten years of training and field service must be completed before the age of thirty." Harry couldn't really see where this was going, and the confusion must have shown on his face, because McGonagall carried on speaking. "However, someone with a child not of Hogwarts age may not do field training, as it involves real dangerous situations, and the Ministry will not be held responsible for taking away the parent of a young child. As you have probably learnt recently, family is very important in the Wizarding World.

"This means, Mr. Potter, that there is little to no chance of you becoming an Auror." Harry stared, gobsmacked. By the time his child was eleven, Harry would be twenty-six! _Far_ too old to even contemplate being an Auror… So what was he supposed to do for the rest of his life? Leech off his parents' money until it was all gone, then live like the Weasleys? Harry didn't think that he could. He hadn't even _considered_ any other careers, determined to become an Auror. He should have kept his options open like Hermione had told him to, but like Ron, he'd thought that nothing would jeopardise his dream.

There was silence in the room as the adults waited for Harry to digest the information, then Dumbledore deigned to speak.

"I'm very sorry, my boy." Harry shook his head. He didn't want empty apologies. He didn't _care._

"If it's all the same, may I go back to the common room? I don't feel so good." Jacobs cleared his throat before he could stand up.

"The free lessons you have would be best spent reading the books on pregnancy that I've sent ahead to your dorm room. But some of them will be checkups with me and Madame Pomfrey." Harry nodded blankly and stood up, not meeting the eyes of any of the adults in the room.

He went down the stairs numbly, paying no attention to the dense silence he left behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for all the reviews - I really appreciate every single one :D! I realised that the scene breaks had disappeared, so I'm going back to fix them all now!

* * *

That evening, he pretended to be asleep when Hermione and Ron came upstairs. He didn't have it in him to talk to them right now; to tell them that the parasite really truly _had_ ruined his life. He wasn't entirely sure what he was to do with himself now, and he didn't want Hermione butting her head in where it wasn't wanted. He just knew she'd have that gleam in her eye that said: 'I told you so…' And so it was, that Harry overheard an interesting conversation. 

"So you must get it right? Harry doesn't want it. I wouldn't, in his place." _Ron._

"Harry doesn't know what he's talking about!" _Hermione._

"What do you mean?"

"He's obviously in denial about his true feelings, and has hidden that behind a mask of hate and indifference."

"What? No. He just doesn't want it. Simple as."

"I'm sorry, Ron, but I can't believe that _Harry_ of all people would hate something of his own blood; that came from him. You _know_ how he's always wanted a family."

"But he's got us!"

"Not the same though, is it? He doesn't have anyone he can call his own above all others. That's why I know this thing with the baby will pass."

"I guess…"

"Exactly. So you need to stop entertaining these notions of his."

"I suppose. Night 'Mione."

"Night Ron."

He _hated_ how Ron always bowed to Hermione's will. He was a good friend – a _great_ friend, but when it came to 'Mione, he was just a pushover. Much as Harry loved Hermione, he didn't want her taking away the only ally he had. Ron _knew_ he didn't want the baby, and he had accepted that (previously), but everyone else seemed to think he was just stressed out, and when the baby came, he'd be okay again, and he'd love it, and everything would be fine. Well it wouldn't be.

"Harry, you were awake, weren't you?" Ron whispered as he climbed into his own bed.

"Yes."

"Maybe Hermione's right, though. She reads loads about this kind of stuff. And about the family thing…" Ron trailed off, not knowing how to carry on with the sentence.

"I don't care, Ron." There was silence, then Ron sighed and the sound of curtains being drawn filled the room. Harry ignored the hot tears prickling the back of his eyes. He _didn't _want it.

* * *

Harry was more excited today than he'd ever been in his life. It had taken a while before he'd met up with Draco in school, but it hadn't taken long for the other boy to pluck up the courage to ask him to Hogsmeade. Harry had accepted of course, and they had parted with Draco giving a peck on the cheek that had made Harry blush like there was no tomorrow. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Draco properly – he'd never done that before. Well, he had, but he tried not to think of Oliver, especially with the wedding only two months away. Harry didn't want to think of what could go wrong at the ceremony. On one hand, he wanted to ruin Oliver like he had ruined him, but on the other, he couldn't bear to hurt someone as lovely as Collette in that way. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment. 

He pulled on a baggy jumper, hoping to hide the bulge. Pomfrey said that next check-up they would be able to check the sex. Harry didn't care whether it was a boy or a girl; it was still ruining his life. He'd voiced this to Pomfrey, but instead of getting angry like he'd hoped, she'd smiled and told him he'd feel differently in a while. Jacobs, who Harry no longer saw as the calming presence he had in the beginning, was still telling him to put on weight – that in fact, he'd lost fat since the beginning of his pregnancy. Harry was happy with this.

Eating like a bird had made Hermione start mother-henning him again. He'd come to the conclusion that she was jealous of him. She said he looked like a waif, and that was good enough for him. It made for an odd body in front of the mirror – sharp hipbones with the round curve of his stomach. Harry had been horrified to see stretch marks where his body had grown, and he resolved to get rid of them.

Turning sideways in front of the mirror, Harry decided that the parasite wasn't obvious unless you knew it was there. He wished that he could wear robes, but Draco never did when he didn't have to, and Harry would feel weird asking him to when they were only going to Hogsmeade. It wasn't even really cold. Or at least, it was for Harry, but then again, he was always cold. Hermione said it was his fault for being so skinny, and that made Harry smile. Skinny. He loved the word. Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, and nodding approvingly, Harry went to meet Draco in the Great Hall.

It took him longer than it would usually have done, but he had to be careful on the stairs these days. He was always losing his balance, and had nearly died not two weeks ago after falling down two sets of stairs. When told that the baby was still there, he wasn't sure whether he'd been delighted or annoyed. _Annoyed, of course, _he told himself, trying to shake the idea from his head. Everyone was encouraging him to think of the parasite as his child; as a _part_ of him. He was having none of it.

* * *

He reached the Great Hall eventually and was pleased to see that Draco was already there, lounging against the Slytherin table. Harry had still had the niggling worry in the back of his mind that he'd be stood up. At least that wasn't the case. He made his way over to the other boy and stopped shyly in front him. Despite there only being a month or two's difference between them, Draco was a great deal taller, standing at about 5'11" to Harry's 5'5". It made Harry feel safe, being with someone that was taller, but not too much taller than him. Unlike Ron, who towered over him these days and was still growing.

Draco greeted him with a small kiss to the cheek and Harry blushed. Draco was such gentleman, and Harry had yet to receive anything but a kiss on the cheek from the boy. Sometimes it made him feel nervous; he wasn't sure whether Draco was actually attracted to him, but he trusted that the other wouldn't lead him on like that if that was the case. Draco gave him his arm and they began the walk to Hogsmeade, Harry grinning like never before. Why couldn't Draco have been the father of his child? Then he wouldn't have had to be ashamed of the thing and hate it. He didn't want to hate it…

* * *

The walk to Hogsmeade was leisurely, and although Draco did match his steps to Harry's so as to not leave him behind, he made fun of the fact that Harry was shorter than him, and his stride shorter. 

"Sometimes I wonder how you're ever beaten at Quidditch. You have the best figure for it, don't you? Small, svelte… You need to be streamlined to get the best speeds." Harry glowed. That coming from Draco was absolutely perfect. It was the best compliment that he could possibly have been paid by the Slytherin. Harry grinned but said nothing, thinking he might come off as conceited if he spoke. Draco didn't seem to mind, however, as he carried on.

"Why'd you stop, though? You were definitely the best in the school." Harry frowned. He couldn't exactly give Draco the correct reason, could he? Not without screwing everything up. It was hard not being able to tell this boy, one who he liked so much, his biggest secret, but… there was more at stake here.

"I don't really know… I guess I got bored with it. Last year was really great and we won the cup in the end. Guess I just wanted to go out with a bang!" Draco laughed and put an arm around Harry's shoulder, making the boy blush warmly.

He was steered into Honeydukes where he enjoyed himself thoroughly, spending a large chunk of Draco's money. When he realised what he'd done, Harry couldn't believe he'd been so rude and apologised profusely. He was no better than Dudley! Even when reassured by the other that it was okay, that he'd brought more than enough money anyway, Harry felt awful and it was obvious by the pained expression on Draco's face that he realised this. Before he could work himself up into a nervous fit over the awkward silence that had descended, Harry was dragged into a dark alleyway. He flinched, expecting to be hit, but instead he saw Draco looking down at him in a concerned fashion.

"You don't need to be scared of me, Harry," he said, placing a hand on Harry's cheek. Harry flushed indignantly; he was not!

"I'm not _scared_ of you, it's just that – " He was interrupted by the sensation of an arm wrapping around his waist and Draco's breath mingling with his. For a while, they stood there in silence.

"That what, Harry?" Harry closed his eyes.

"Nothing." And then they were kissing and their teeth were clacking and it was messy and Harry's glasses were getting in the way, but it was okay. It wasn't perfect, but it was something good, something Harry wanted. And his second kiss didn't need to be perfect. It just needed to be special.

Eventually, Draco drew back, and Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder, smiling like there was no tomorrow. However, when he realised that Draco was standing very still, Harry grew worried. He poked Draco in the side experimentally and laughed a little, but that was cut short by the violent grabbing of his hand by the other.

"So, did you think you could fuck around on your boyfriend with someone else, then?" Harry's brows furrowed. What the _hell?_ He stepped back from Draco abruptly, seeing that the other boy's nostrils were flaring dangerously, and he looked murderous.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't _have_ a boyfriend, and I never have. I was hoping that you'd be the first I'd give that title, but you don't deserve that right now!" Draco snorted and tightened his arm, and it was that that made Harry's eyes widen. Could he feel…?

"Care to explain why I've got a pregnant stomach under my arm then?" Harry closed his eyes. Why did this have to happen now? He sighed and prepared himself to talk.

"Well, as you seem to have guessed, I _am_ pregnant. But the other father doesn't want to know and it was a one night stand anyway." Harry had never thought that he'd use that phrase in context with himself, but it seemed that that was what was happening now. This all sounded like a very bad soap opera… Draco, however, evidently thought the same thing and snorted.

"Yeah, pull the other one; it's got bells on. I'm not going to help you cheat on your boyfriend okay? Children are really important to wizards, and I don't believe that anyone would abandon you like that."

Harry didn't know what to do. Should he tell Draco and run the risk of not being believed, or having his story pasted all over the Wizarding World? Or should he not bother and lose something that was quickly becoming important to him? Harry's shoulders drooped, he leaned against the wall, and began speaking, hoping that Draco wouldn't just walk away.

"I was at a Gryffindor party last school year and…" Throughout the story, Harry kept his head down. He wasn't really holding out for a miracle. He didn't really think that there was any way that Draco would believe this story, one that sounded vaguely half-baked, not unlike the parasite currently growing inside him. "So yeah, neither of us want it, but I'm not about to ruin his life like that, so…" He trailed off, not really confident that Draco was still there. When no sound came, Harry slumped against the wall, crying softly.


	9. Chapter 9

I now have a review average of 5 per chapter! You have no idea how happy that makes me :D Something for you all to respond to today is this: Where do you think this story is going (bearing in mind there are very few chapters left) and based on that, what you think should/would happen in the sequel?

* * *

So what if he hadn't eaten for five days? He'd gone longer before, and they knew it. And no, he didn't care about the welfare of the parasite. They could abort it for all he cared; it was what he wanted anyway. They'd moved him to a bed in the hospital wing to 'keep an eye on him'. What they thought he'd do was beyond him, but he supposed they were allowed to be slightly paranoid after he'd nearly fallen down a flight of stairs after fainting two days previously.

They were feeding him nutrient potions that he couldn't, no, _wouldn't_, keep down, and were now contemplating putting him on a muggle drip. Like hell they would. He'd rip it out if they tried. There was a mirror in his room and Harry delighted in using what energy reserves he had to make his way over to it to see how he looked at this point. He was twig-like, and it was good. If he bent over, he could see his spine, and it reassured him that not everything was going wrong. Why had Draco left him there alone? Couldn't he understand that it wasn't Harry's fault? That _Draco_ was the one Harry wanted to be with? He dragged himself back to his bed and lay down, dizzy from the effort. Maybe he could have just a little… _No._ Not until… until it was _dead._

Six days. They'd tried to force-feed him and it hadn't worked. He was still strong enough to stick fingers down his throat, and he did. They didn't try again, saying that he would aggravate his heart, which was getting weaker, apparently. They were always talking about how resilient the baby was, but Harry didn't care. He wished it would just _hurry up._ There was a check-up that day. They wanted to see how the baby was doing. Harry wanted to see if it was dead yet, although he doubted it. _As long as I'm still alive,_ he thought, _that thing will go on sapping my strength._ But there was nothing he could do, no sharp instruments or loose cords to end it all with. If he had his wand…

Wait. Raw magic had created the parasite. If he wished for it hard enough it would go away, wouldn't it. Just disappear, just like that… That's what he needed. He hadn't wanted, _needed_ it this much before. But now he did. Now he had to make this happen. When Madame Pomfrey came in, he smiled at her, but ignored her as usual. When he was better, when the parasite was _gone,_ he'd say sorry for the trouble.

* * *

Oh. He'd wet himself, _again._ Sometimes he lost feeling and that happened. It was embarrassing, but it had happened enough times that he didn't really care anymore. He was sure that that was a bad thing, but again, he couldn't be bothered to think about it. He pushed himself up to see if he could get to the bathroom when a shooting pain went through his abdomen. Doubling over on the bed, Harry screamed, unable to hold it in.

What was happening? Why was he in so much _pain?_ The bed was wet beneath him and he looked down to see blood, blood everywhere. Was his wish happening? Was the baby leaving? But… no, not now, not now! It wasn't supposed to hurt! He wasn't supposed to _see_ it happen! Everything was meant to be quick and simple and everything would go back to how it was, and everyone would treat him normally again, and – he screamed again as a searing pain went through him. This wasn't what was supposed to happen! He was supposed to be okay! He could hear the pounding of feet outside his door, but he was lost in the pain, each stab sharper than the last.

* * *

Harry woke up, and the first thing he noticed was the absence of his pregnant stomach – just squidgy soft belly where it had been before. A smile tried to make its way onto his face, but Harry found that it didn't quite reach. He wasn't happy, was he? Now that it was gone. He had his body back; he should be rejoicing. Instead, he couldn't even bring himself to care. He wondered what they'd done with the corpse. It was old enough to have one, wasn't it? The corpse of his baby. His child. A part of him. It was gone, and wasn't coming back. People wouldn't nag him over what to eat now. He could become an Auror.

All of this meant nothing to him. His baby was dead because he killed it. He wished for it to be dead and it was. He had destroyed a life. The information whirled around in his head, but it still wasn't settling in. He… he could have a family with whoever he wanted now, right? But… would they want a child murderer…? Harry tried to curl up into a ball, but the absence of his stomach was disturbing and he stretched out again, lying flat so no part of him crossed that bereft area.

That was how Pomfrey came and found him some time afterwards. She looked harried and tired. She'd probably looked like that for the past week, hadn't she? But he hadn't noticed. He stared blankly at her for a few moments, then spoke the first words he'd said in eight days.

"Can… can I bury it?" Pomfrey looked like she wanted to kill him. He'd probably want to as well in her position.

"Mr. Potter. There will be no burying of any kind. Your son is very weak right now, but he will survive. While any other child would probably not have survived the night, it seems that your magic sensed that you were not… enthusiastic about this and it hurried along his development some. If it had not, you would be facing a trial by Wizengamot for endangering an innocent life." Harry couldn't process all of this. He had a son? Really? He had a son! He had a baby boy, and he wouldn't have to bury him, and he wasn't a murderer and… There were too many ands! Pomfrey looked like she would rather be anywhere else, but she stayed, and meekly, Harry asked,

"Is it maybe possible that I could… if it's not too much hassle, that… well, if I –" Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you can see him. He needs to be given a name." She summoned a wheelchair, and before Harry knew it, he was being pushed to another room. His stomach was tender, and he now noticed the bandages covering his lower torso. He must have a scar there, right? Tearing his mind from the subject, Harry braced himself as they prepared to go into the room housing his son.

The first thing he noticed was the many muggle styled, but magic powered, machines in the large room. Confusedly, he looked around for his son, getting more confused as they weaved around the contraptions. When they stopped in front of a large glass cylindrical box, with all kinds of tubes coming in and out of it, Harry looked towards Pomfrey with confusion.

"Where is he?" Pomfrey gestured to the mound in the middle and opened a hatch in the side of the box.

"Look." He did, and was met with a tiny face. At first, he could only think that he was looking at a doll. This _couldn't _be his son. This thing was so small and fragile, and looked like it wasn't alive, the rise and fall of its chest so shallow. Harry looked back at Pomfrey in incredulousness and blinked. She nodded at him, and Harry reached into the box to stroke his son's hand. It was so… so _small._

"So, your son – "

"Sebastian."

"Sebastian may not be well for some months. But we are optimistic." Harry wasn't. It wasn't plausible that someone this small could live for very long. But then again, he had survived being gestated by seemingly the worst parent in the world. Looking at the tiny baby in front of him, his little face still scrunched up, Harry couldn't believe that he'd tried so hard to _kill_ him. What was wrong with him? What kind of sick person spent months of their lives plotting ways to get rid of their own offspring? Harry turned his face away, unable to look at his son any longer, for fear he would burst into tears.

"May I hold him?" He asked, tentatively. He certainly wasn't going to be confident in the fact that Pomfrey wouldn't kill him for asking. And he was right not to be. She gave him a stony glare, and spoke.

"You may not, Mr Potter. As you can see, Sebastian is very fragile right now. Each of these machines has a different function in keeping him alive. Moving him could disrupt a tube, and at this moment in time, that would prove fatal." Harry nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn't even hold him…

"You may wish to inform his other father that he has a son. When you went into labour, your friends were told, but he has yet to find out." Harry started minutely, but his eyes stayed fixed to his son's face.

"Did you tell Draco Malfoy?" Pomfrey looked at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware that Mr Malfoy numbered among your friends. If I had, perhaps I would have. If you would, the Floo is in the next room. I trust you can wheel yourself, as Sebastian needs to be turned right now." Harry nodded blankly, watching as she gently moved the blanket from Sebastian's back and began the process of turning him over. Too many wires… He moved away from the room, fumbling with the wheels. Evidently, Pomfrey didn't care how weak he was at this moment. To be honest, neither did he. He didn't deserve to be alive right now.

* * *

He threw the powder into the fireplace, stating Oliver's address. How convenient that Collette and Oliver were holding the wedding at their home, and he had burned that invitation into his memory. Please, let Oliver be the only one home… No such luck.

"Harry! How good to see you. I haven't received your answer to the invitation, are you coming?" She looked so radiant; so happy. Harry was disappointed when even this couldn't bring a smile to his face.

"Don't worry, I'm coming. I just kept forgetting to send my answer back. Sorry, Collette."

"Don't worry!" She grinned, "I've had a lot on my mind too…" She took the time to pat her stomach lightly. Harry couldn't stop the shock from appearing on his face.

"Really? How long?"

"Just gone three months now, so it's safe to tell everyone!" Oliver really didn't waste his time, did he? Harry thought. Merely a month after getting Harry pregnant, he'd gone and done the same to his fiancée. Although, Harry reasoned, he was allowed to do that to the one he was going to marry, wasn't he? "Next check up, I get to find out whether I'm having a boy or a girl – I'm so excited!" Harry smiled slightly. _This_ was how he was supposed to act. Collette would make the perfect mother. He was the complete opposite of her.

"I'm very happy for you two – you really deserve something like this." Collette beamed at him.

"Well, I'm sure you don't want to listen to me waffle on. I'll go get Oliver, seeing as he's probably the one you want." She winked at him and he heard footsteps leaving the room. When they came back again, Harry was relieved to hear only one set. Oliver's face looked annoyed and his voice reflected that.

"What?"

"I think it's best if you come through, Oliver."

"Is it about you-know-what?"

"Yeah." Oliver sighed and the next thing he knew, the man was in the room. It seemed like he'd grown since the last time Harry'd seen him. At any rate, he'd become more imposing, and Harry, sat in a wheelchair at waist height, felt tiny in his light cotton shirt and trousers. There was silence for a while, then Oliver cleared his throat.

"You're… not showing. Collette's got a little bump now." Harry stared at his feet.

"I haven't been taking the best care of myself lately, or our baby." There was an awkward pause. "Yes, _our_ baby. I nearly lost him yesterday. Even though I didn't, I'm no longer pregnant." Oliver gasped.

"You miscarried?" Harry sighed at this.

"I did say that I didn't lose him. He's not gone, but he's not in good health either. It's my fault. If you want to see him – " He wasn't even allowed to finish the sentence before Oliver pushed past him, going through the door. Harry sat there, dumbstruck. He had thought that Oliver wanted nothing to do with this. If so, why was he rushing over to their son's side?

Once again, Harry wheeled himself through the doorway, wondering what he would see. When he was met with the sight of Oliver stroking their son's hand. Why did Oliver look so perfect in the presence of a baby, when Harry knew he would not look the same? Truthfully, Harry knew the answers to both questions, but he pushed them to the back of his head, not wanting to acknowledge them. He coughed lightly and Oliver sneered at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you do this for attention or something? Annoyed that someone else was getting more notice than you were?" Harry looked away, unable to answer. He wasn't about to admit any faults, however.

"Like you have any right to tell me anything! You're the one that left us." Oliver chuckled grimly.

"Us, is it now? From what I've heard, it's always been about you and the _parasite._" Harry started. How did Oliver know about that? This was just… Who had told? He couldn't believe he'd placed his trust in people, when all they ever did was betray him.

"I'm not going to listen to you, okay? Sebastian's my responsibility, and you've got your _own_ child on the way now, don't you?" Oliver didn't say anything, but softly tucked their son back into the incubator.

"Sebastian? Trust you to pick such a stupid name. He suits Peter a lot better."

"What, Peter Potter?" Harry snorted. "That's ridiculous." Oliver gave him one cold glance, then made to leave.

"See you at the wedding, Potter." The footsteps continued to the door, then stopped.

"Not Peter Potter. Peter Wood."


	10. Chapter 10

WOW. I think I got 12 reviews for the last chapter. I could never have expected that kind of response - I'm not used to having over 4ish per chapter anymore (my writing's obviously not as good as when I did WiaSaD XD) Thank you all so very much. There are two more chapters after this, and the drama isn't over yet! ;)

* * *

By the time December rolled around, Sebastian had grown. Harry, on the other hand, had not. Every time he tried to eat more than a certain amount, his brain would scream at him not to carry on. He was trying so hard to eat and to learn how to look after Sebastian, but it wasn't working. At first, everyone had thought that he was just being difficult as before, but now, as they saw him attempt to choke down a slice of bread before he went back watch Pomfrey take care of his son, it became realised that something was seriously wrong. Hermione sat with him every other day, bringing his homework. There was really no point now, as it was an unspoken fact that Harry was too behind to catch up, and he would have to repeat the year.

"Harry, just one more bite, then we can stop."

"Please, Hermione, I've tried! Look – I've eaten a whole one already…" Hermione thought it was pathetic what her friend had been reduced to, a stack of bones and skin, everything angles. She remembered when it used to be pleasant to hug Harry. Now she'd rather hug a corpse, it felt so similar. She put down the fork, a sad piece of pancake drooping off the end.

"Harry, you can't go on like this. Seb needs someone to look after him, and you need professional help. You _have_ to give Madame Pomfrey the authority to look after him more fully." Instantly, his face screwed up. Hermione sighed inwardly. So many people had tried to have this conversation with him and failed.

"She doesn't understand what he needs! He likes to be fed at a certain time and he needs to be turned every now and then. Only I can do that for him."

"That's wrong, and you know it is. You're barely strong enough to get out of bed in the morning, let alone look after a growing baby. It's not you that feeds him, or you that turns him, it's Madam Pomfrey. You weren't even pregnant long enough for the birth canal to form. Harry, you need help for your... disorder, and – "

"I'm not anorexic! Only girls get that, how many times do I have to say?"

"Harry, you know that's not true. There's nothing wrong with having this problem, okay? But Madam Pomfrey says you have to get treatment or you're not going to last a lot longer. Your kidneys are failing, as you well know, and there's no point in treating it with potions when it will only get worse anyway." Harry's face scrunched up, and she knew she wasn't going to get any more out of him on that subject, so she changed the topic to one she knew would get a rise out of him.

"I told Draco Malfoy everything yesterday." Harry's head shot up, and he looked at her accusingly.

"Why? How could you do that to me?"

"You two have unfinished business, and plus, I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. It was after your date in Hogsmeade that this all happened; I haven't forgotten." Harry blinked. She'd been trying to tell Draco off? But Draco didn't do anything – it was him who'd ruined everything! But before he could speak, Hermione got her things together to leave. Before she left, she threw a comment over her shoulder.

"He'll be coming over in about ten minutes." Harry stared after her in horror.

When the knock came, Harry had worked himself into a state. He'd rearranged the room a few times, but had had to stop when he got dizzy. He'd tried to force down some more food and some of an orange. After running out of things to do, he'd taken to combing his hair, trying to tame it, and checking and rechecking on Sebastian from the doorway. Since that first day, he'd been unable to take more than a few steps into the room, unwilling to do anything that would cause his son harm. While he'd told Hermione that he always held his son, the truth was that he only part of his son that he'd touched was his hand, and he could count the number of times he'd done without having to resort to toes. It was just that every time he gained the confidence to, his son would turn or move, and he'd lose his nerve. Sebastian was still so fragile… of _course_ it wasn't safe for Harry to attempt to hold him yet. He was only following his head this time around.

"Come in," he called uncertainly. The door swung open, and Draco stepped into the room, holding a bunch of flowers and looking uncertain and nervous. It made Harry happier to know that he wasn't the only one with reservations about this meeting. Draco stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, before coming in to sit on the chair by Harry's bed. He fiddled with the ring on his finger for a while before actually looking at Harry's face.

"I'm so sorry I walked away." Harry had not been expecting an apology. He'd been expecting Draco to spit in his face and tell him he'd got what he deserved. His silence gave Draco encouragement to carry on.

"I wish I had stayed to listen to you speak that day, Harry. It would have changed so many things… Now that I know the whole story, I'd like to try and make it up to you." Harry could only nod dumbly. Draco coughed; evidently what he was about to say was hard for him to get out.

"Maybe you already had the problem, but I feel really bad for encouraging you that day. You looked nice slim, it's true, but now… now you look skeletal. That Healer, the one in charge of you, says there's a hospital that specialises in problems like yours, eating disorders and all that. It would really mean a lot if you went there. It's your decision when you go, and for how long, but…" Harry began to speak, but a finger on his lips stopped him.

"As a little extra incentive other than getting better, I'd like to ask you something." Draco fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small black box. Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Could it be?

"In this box is the Malfoy engagement ring. I would like to ask you to bond with me." Harry finally found his voice.

"We went on _one_ date!" Draco flushed.

"I know, but… this would be beneficial for both of us! I really like you, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with… And you need the stability of your own family. If we were to marry, you'd have that…" He trailed off. Harry still wasn't convinced. He _really _liked Draco, but he didn't love him, not in any sense of the word.

"That's an incredibly selfless reason, Draco. But… we're not in love." Draco gave him a tender look.

"Maybe not now, but many couples aren't when they go into it. It's only through shared experiences that people fall in love. Who says that you can't be married first?" Harry laughed dryly, but Draco wasn't finished.

"And, to be perfectly honest, that's not my only reason." Draco looked around the room vaguely. "Childhood illness. I can't actually father children at all. I'd carry them, but that's not allowed in my family contract. If I did, I'd lose everything. But it also stipulates that I have to have a child by my twenty-first birthday. So far, I've been desperate to find some way of getting around it. No such luck. However, while a child that I adopt does not usually count as an heir, if I marry their parent, it does." Harry nodded. He saw it now. This was more of a business arrangement with the hope of a happy ending. Draco saw his hesitation.

"Even if we fell out, I would never turn the two of you out of our home. And while I could not promise to divorce you if you found love, I would certainly find some way to accommodate it." Harry still didn't know, and he shook his head confusedly.

"Harry, please."


	11. Chapter 11

Penultimate chapter! Thank you, all of you for your support and reviews - I really appreciate them :D Argo, if you want my email, you have to allow your account to receive messages. I can't actually reply to you.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but glance at the door every minute or so, waiting for the knock that would allow him to get out of this room. Sebastian lay quietly in a crib next to him, and after looking nervously towards the door, Harry would reach a hand out towards him, only to retract it again as his son moved. Harry needed to get out of here. Even if the place he was going was the last place on earth he wanted to be, anywhere was better than here… His hands fiddled with the hair that had been carefully styled that morning and the brand new dress robes that he hadn't paid for.

The knock startled him when it came, and he jumped up, wincing when Sebastian began to snuffle. He didn't know what he'd do if his son started crying. He opened the door and blushed, seeing Draco there. The other bent down to kiss him, and Harry moved his face so it caught him on the cheek. There was a pause, then,

"Harry… you're not wearing your ring." Harry closed his eyes. Trust Draco to notice.

"Uh, well, I was just having a shower and I was worried that – "

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"That ring is waterproof. And while we're at it, it's fireproof and anything else you can think of proof. Stop trying to lose it, Harry. Go put it on." Harry nodded quietly, moving past Sebastian with only a slight pause. He went into his room and opened the first drawer of his dressing table to bring out the black box he knew was sitting among his vests. He sighed and opened it, slipping the cool metal over his finger again. He knew he shouldn't take it off, because not wearing it didn't change the fact they were going to get married when they left Hogwarts. But… he just didn't _want_ to.

When he came out, Draco was holding Sebastian. Harry resisted the urge to dart forwards and grab his son out of the Slytherin's arms. Seb was safe with him. Safer than he was with Harry, at any rate. And plus, Draco was Seb's future stepfather. He would need to rely on him sometimes. Not to mention that Draco was good with children, or at least Harry's. Sebastian was cooing as Draco tickled his tiny feet, and it made Harry's eyes prickle. Sebastian's hands flailed around wildly and Harry felt a lump form in his throat. He coughed to dislodge it, and this made Draco look up.

"Who's looking after him while we're gone?"

"Madame Pomfrey. She doesn't trust anyone else with him for extended amounts of time, yet." _Including me,_ he added silently. Every few hours, he'd get a Floo call from the woman, and he was forbidden to bathe Seb in case he tried to drown him. Draco placed Seb back into the crib and put an arm around Harry's waist, which Harry bore stiffly.

* * *

They left through the front door of the small cottage when Pomfrey arrived and Harry locked the door behind him. While the holidays were in progress, he'd not been allowed to go home with the Weasleys, as Sebastian wasn't strong enough to travel great distances yet. So a small place had been rented in Hogsmeade, and Harry was staying there. He was miserable. This was the first Christmas since the Dursleys that he'd been on his own. Well, not actually on his own, but Seb didn't exactly count as company yet. And to top it all off, the holiday was being finished with attending the Woods' marriage ceremony.

He hadn't wanted to go. He'd tried to pretend being sick, but one look at Colette's face through the Floo, looking so excited the day before her wedding, and he'd had to change his mind. Well, at least Draco was coming with him. He didn't think he could do it on his own. Any company was better than none, especially at a time like this. He was about to watch the father of his child get married. To a person that wasn't him.

Sometimes, Harry would find himself staring at pictures of Oliver in Quidditch magazines, his arm slung casually around someone or other. All he would be able to think was that the person wasn't him. That it _should_ have been him. The spread in _Witch Weekly _of Oliver and his 'wife to be' was almost too much to bear. He tensed, and the arm around him tightened slightly. Harry turned towards Draco, surprised to see a small smile, which he returned feebly.

Draco had been wonderful. Yet, Harry could not accept him. He didn't know why, but this all felt _wrong_. This sham of a marriage, this _business arrangement_. The ring on his finger was a lie, the things they'd said to their friends to accept it were lies, the smile on his face as he'd told the Weasleys was a lie. Everything was fake. Harry knew that the affection Draco gave was not real, and he didn't want that. Was it too much to ask that if Draco could not love him, that he shouldn't pretend to, just to make Harry feel better? He knew it wasn't possible for someone to want the baggage that came with someone like him, so he wished that Draco would just stop acting as if it were.

"Harry…" He looked up with an eyebrow cocked. Draco didn't usually sound so… "What do you think of more children?" Harry frowned.

"No thanks. One was hassle enough. Plus, we'd have to adopt, wouldn't we, and I think it'd be weird, bringing up a child that bore no relationship to either of us." Draco looked at him with an expression bordering astonishment, which soon mellowed into amusement.

"I guess Granger doesn't know you that well after all, then. _She _said that you wanted a whole brood of them."

"I did, once upon a time. But you saw how fat I got with Seb. Like I'd let _that _happen again." He chuckled, but stopped abruptly when he saw the serious expression on Draco's face.

"We're going to have words about that sometime soon, Harry. No husband of mine is going to run around starving himself to death when I'm supposed to be taking care of him. Those friends of yours may have failed to combat this problem of yours, but I will not." Harry turned his head away. He wouldn't have it. He'd thought that Draco at least would know when to stay out of it, but it seemed he was just as bad as the others.

"But we're not to think of that now. Instead, I'd like to remind you that you promised not to cause a scene at the wedding. Is that going to stand, or shall we just turn around right now?"

"No Draco. I shan't make a fuss. It wouldn't be fair to Collette." At least, that's what he'd been telling himself, like a mantra in his head, for the past week. And plus, he had no connection to Oliver anymore. The other man hadn't done anything to take Seb away from him, and Harry was _quite_ confident that he wouldn't be able to. He had no claim over their son. And he couldn't claim Seb on the grounds of having a steady job and being out of school, because Harry was…

"Have you signed all the papers?" Going nowhere. The papers Draco was talking about were the ones that allowed Draco to put his name down legally as Sebastian's father, and the ones that ended Harry's time at Hogwarts. There was no point, was there? He wasn't going to become an Auror, there was nothing else he wanted to do, and the Malfoys were incredibly rich. He didn't have to worry about money, did he?

"Yeah. Dumbledore was a bit reluctant to give the school's ones to me, but he backed down eventually." He hadn't believed Harry in the beginning, his eyes sparkling as if it were one big joke. But it wasn't, and Dumbledore had realised this, albeit slowly.

The pair reached the end of the path, and Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, hugging him slightly while drawing him into a kiss. Even though he knew it was for show, so the people at the party would realise their relationship quickly (also the reason they were arriving slightly late), Harry couldn't help but draw comfort from Draco's warmth. He was always cold. They Portkeyed, still locked in an embrace.


	12. Chapter 12

And we're at the last chapter! I have a feeling that a lot of you are going to hate me for this one. I promise, it will get better for Harry, just not yet. The next story will not have nearly as many bad things happen to Harry, but will still be dramatic. It will also focus on Harry and Draco's relationship. First chapter should be up in about a week or so. Enjoy, and thanks to everyone!

* * *

When Collette pulled him up onto the podium after the ceremony, and rather far into the reception, Harry could feel the red blooming up the sides of his neck. She was quite evidently tipsy, as anyone would be when they were the sort of person to need 'liquid courage' to stop them running out on their fiancé. He grinned sheepishly at all the people staring up at them, and drew strength to combat his own nervousness from the fact that Draco was directly in his line of sight, and was looking at him encouragingly. Collette coughed briefly, before casting Sonorus on herself.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! May I please have your attention?" The garden of people soon fell silent, and Harry felt all eyes fall upon them. "Now, my special day is almost come to an end, and I just wish that I could start the day over and be married to my darling once again." Here, she stopped to send a beautiful smile in the direction of her husband, who looked awkward; standing on Harry's other side. "I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you, and I can't wait for our little child to be born in the Spring." A cheer went up. Harry supposed it wasn't common news. Well, Collette hid it well, it had to be said.

"But enough about us, I would now like to turn the attention to my dear friend, Harry Potter." Harry didn't know when he'd become her 'dear friend', but he had to admit that he liked her very much, and if she considered him a friend, then he wouldn't protest it.

"You may all have seen him come in with a gorgeous blonde, but what you didn't know is that they are, in fact, engaged. The wedding isn't until they leave school, but I'm sure we'll all have invitations!" There was laughter from the crowd, but Harry didn't see what was so hilarious. He didn't know who three quarters of the people were… Never mind. He knew he shouldn't have told Collette about the engagement…

* * *

_There was a loud squeal as they apparated into the garden. When Draco and Harry drew apart, Collette seized him around the shoulders with a bear hug. It was weird, everyone was taller than him these days – he was hard pressed to find someone his age that was shorter than him. Madame Pomfrey said it was because he'd stunted his growth. Draco said it was okay; he was just petit. Harry wished that Draco would stop sending him such mixed messages about his size._

_She dragged him into an alcove, and Harry caught a glimpse of Oliver as they sped past. When they were hidden enough for Collette's liking, she squealed again. Harry felt like covering his ears, but for some reason, he felt that the older girl might take it badly. He'd obviously been spoiled by Hermione's relative sanity. In her excitement, Harry could hear Collette's obviously well-practiced English revert to the French accent she'd had when he first met her._

_"Oh Harry, you look wonderful! My dress, isn't it exquisite? Oliver picked it himself – I didn't think he possessed the taste. Don't you think he did well? Who was that handsome man I dragged you away from? Is he your beau? Is it serious?" Harry, overwhelmed, just nodded in the right places until she asked him a question he actually had to reply to._

_"Yes, that's my… boyfriend. His name is Draco Malfoy. And yes, we are quite serious." Collette bombarded him with more questions, some of which had Harry quite flustered, and he made up answers, not exactly able to reply that he had never even shared a bed with Draco to _sleep_. He raised a hand to scratch at his head, then remembered that he wasn't allowed to because he would mess up his hair, so the hand began to descend back down to his side._

_It would have completed this journey had Collette not grabbed his hand with almost inhuman speed. She looked up at him in shock._

_"You two are engaged?"_

_"Um… yes." __More squealing._

Collette continued with her speech. "I've heard that it's a muggle custom to throw the bouquet of flowers into the crowd, and the woman that catches them is the next one to be married. Well instead, I'd like to give my flowers to Harry, in the wish that he too can be as happy with Draco as I am with Ollie!" She beamed at Harry, and even though the flowers were garish, and he was offended at how everyone seemed to forget he was male, he accepted them with a smile. He would have liked to see Oliver look at him with anything other than loathing, however.

When he got down off the podium, Draco was glaring at him, and Harry knew he would be in trouble later. In an attempt to stave off the moment, Harry let himself be engulfed in the sea of people wishing to give him congratulations. It was nice, he reckoned, being told well done for something that hadn't even been his idea. He wondered whether Draco was getting the same treatment, and when he saw that he was, Harry felt a little less out of place.

* * *

There were just a few people left. Draco was hashing out some kind of deal with someone or other, and Harry was left twiddling his thumbs, holding a glass of water. He was feeling a little dizzy, and wanted to go home. If he told Draco, he'd also have to tell the other that the reason he felt dizzy was because he'd managed to avoid eating anything all day. It was much easier now that he lived on his own. He nibbled at the meals Pomfrey sent, then spelled most of them away, making sure to leave enough that she wouldn't get suspicious. Everyone thought that he was just spending so much time looking after Seb that 'he didn't have time' to worry about his weight. It helped that he only wore baggy clothes now. He knew he was getting weaker. Sometimes he would get pains in his abdomen, but he could still shake them off.

Oliver came and sat down next to him as he thought.

"How is he?" the Quidditch player asked. As if Harry didn't know who he was talking about.

"He's doing well. Growing steadily. Pomfrey says by February, he'll be pretty much fixed." The instant tensing of Oliver's shoulders told him he'd said something wrong.

"Fixed? You talk about him as if he were some kind of machine that had stopped working! He's our _son_, Harry." Harry could feel tears welling up. It didn't help that right now, he was_ terrified_ of Oliver. He could smell the scent of alcohol on his breath, just like _that night_.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." They sat in silence for a while, neither having too much to say.

"You know, if I hadn't been engaged to Collette when we had sex, I would have done the right thing by you." Harry would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been so shocked. As it was, his jaw dropped.

"And that is supposed to make me feel better how? Seriously, shut up before you say something I'll make you regret."

"Oh please – a scrawny thing like you?" Harry wouldn't listen to this. He stood up abruptly, intending to join Draco whether he was finished or not. But as he stood, all the blood seemed to rush from his head, and he crumpled on the ground, Oliver hovering over him the last thing he saw.

_What happened?_

_We were just talking, and he'd just stood up to get a drink when he collapsed._

_Excuse me?_

_Well, he seemed a little tipsy when I was talking to him. Maybe he was drunk…_

_Mm.__ I'll take him home. Thank you for the evening._

_Oh no, Draco! The pleasure was ours. You must visit us when the baby arrives; Harry said he would be so pleased to see him!_

_Of course, Collette._

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking, getting drunk?" When Harry came to, he was lying in his bed, wearing his pyjamas.

"I didn't! All I drank was water, I promise." Draco snorted, and Harry could tell, even through the blur that was his world without glasses, that his fiancé had an unpleasant expression on his face.

"And you expect me to believe that when you actually passed out from it? I know you have no alcohol tolerance." Harry was torn. Tell him the real reason for his faint, or allow Draco to think he'd embarrassed him on purpose. He elected to keep quiet.

"Answer me!" Harry, shocked at the tone, couldn't say anything, and then there was a _whack!_ as Draco slapped him. Harry scrambled to sit up on the bed, holding a hand to his cheek. He could hear Draco breathing heavily, and something inside him snapped.

"You know what? Fuck you! Fine, I passed out because I hadn't eaten anything all day, or much the day before that, or the day before that! Send me to the bloody hospital, then. They'll only force food down me until I'm sick, then send me home again. Waste your money if you _really _want to! You don't want me. You're pathetic, pretending all this affection when –" Another slap, from the opposite side, and Harry was stunned into silence.

"Oh, so you think I'm faking this all? Think I'd _pretend_ to like someone as pathetic as you? No, unfortunately for me, I've got feelings for someone who so far seems pretty worthless. Attempted murder, starvation for attention, sex before most have even started having steady relationships? Oh, I love it! A fiancé who might be dead before we even get married, with a son who deserves so much better than what he's got? Yeah, I'd really fake my feelings for someone like that.

"And fuck _me_? Hasn't been much of that in _this_ relationship, has there? What, ready and willing to give it up for darling Oliver, but everyone else can go jump? I don't exactly feel that's fair; we haven't even consummated our engagement yet. And guess what Harry - I'm tired of your rubbish, and if all I'm going to get out of our marriage is sex, then so be it. I can deal with that. I don't need you to love me." Then Draco was on top of him, and unbuttoning Harry's shirt and Harry wanted to cry out, but there was no one, and now his trousers were being pulled down, and…

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was in blissful peace until the memories of the night before hit him. Draco wasn't in the bed anymore, and for that, Harry was glad. He slid out of bed, pulling on his pyjamas, and moved towards the sitting room slowly, nearly crying out in pain. He'd just make sure that Seb was okay, and –

He froze. Draco was standing there, using his wand to direct the cooking he was evidently doing. Harry stood in the doorway for what seemed like an age before Draco turned around and saw him. There was surprise on his face, but, inexplicably, he seemed cheerful. He came over and pushed Harry into a chair, which Harry found had been cushioned, much to his relief. Food was set down in front of him, and Harry stared at it, then at Draco.

"I'm not eating this."

"Look, Harry, don't be silly, okay. I know we both got a bit upset last night, and I was a bit rough, but can't we just forget about it?" He went back to the sink, where he began washing dishes Harry knew he'd been neglecting for some time.

"Draco… you raped me. I didn't want that at all." Harry's voice couldn't help but crack. There was a smash as Draco dropped a plate and it shattered over the floor. He cleared it up without saying a word, then,

"Don't _ever_ say something like that again. You're my fiancé, you've agreed to marry me, and you will _not_ ever use that word when referring to me again. It is not possible for me to rape you." Harry didn't know what to say. He hadn't realised that Draco held these sorts of values. Maybe he should have thought this out better… "Just eat the stupid food, and don't give me anything about not wanting to. And this afternoon, we're going straight to Renewal to get you some help. I've entertained your stupid eating… thing for far too long." Harry nodded, and ate. If he didn't then Draco might… he might hurt him again.

When Draco left, Harry went straight to his son's side, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't want to marry Draco anymore, but Seb needed a stable family unit, one that could provide for him! Harry couldn't support a child for the rest of his life, and the Weasleys were just managing to scrape by; he couldn't burden them. And he refused to give his son over to some stranger. No… this was better. And it wasn't as if Draco had _really_ hurt him, had he? He was alive; he only had a few bruises on his hips. Some people were a lot worse off. And Draco cared enough to get him 'help', even though Harry knew he didn't need it.

But even these reassurances could not stop him from feeling like everything was going wrong. And looking down into Sebastian's crib, Harry finally felt something inside him burst, and he picked up his infant son for the first time, cradling him in his arms. He may have been a parasite to Harry for a very long time, but now… now Harry knew he would do anything to keep his son safe, even if it meant putting himself in harm's way.

_The End_


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